~ Clay

I shouldn’t have said all those things to Andrea.

As I sit on the chair by my bedroom window, ironically sobered by two glasses of Scotch and the happy memories I had with John, I realize what a mistake I’ve made and what a jerk I’ve been.

Andrea accompanied me not only during the funeral service but also at the cemetery, staying by my side. I should have thanked her, not pushed her away.

Great, Clay. You either lose the people you care about or push them away.

I frown. I didn’t mean to push her away. Again. I just wanted to be alone. I was sad and angry. And when she touched my arm, God, I wanted to carry her up here to my bedroom and fuck her so hard that I’d forget the rest of the world and the horrible morning I had and every other terrible feeling. But I couldn’t. And it frustrated me. And that frustration was the flame that made everything blow up.

No. I shake my head. None of this is Andrea’s fault. I’m the one who’s being a jerk here, just like I was last time. She didn’t deserve that then and she doesn’t deserve this now, especially not when I’m the one who asked her to live here, when I’m the one who asked her to go to the funeral with me.

I should apologize.

And I have every intention of doing so as I head towards the door but then I realize I’m still in the shirt and pants I wore to the funeral, plus I smell like alcohol. In short, I look and smell like shit.

I take a shower, drying myself up and dressing up after. Rules are rules, after all. Then I go downstairs, knocking on the door to Andrea’s bedroom.

No answer.

Is she asleep? Is she taking a shower? Or is she just there but she refuses to talk to me?

I refuse to entertain that last option. When she still doesn’t answer after the third knock, I decide to go with the most obvious reason – she’s not there – and I check Rose’s room.

Strange. Rose isn’t here, either.

That probably means they’re together and so I start searching the house for them both. After a few minutes, I find them in the cozy kitchen, Andrea standing and Rose sitting behind the counter with pots, pans, whisks, spoons, jars and bottles in front of them.

“You’re baking?”

Andrea looks at me. “Yup. Rose and I decided we’d give baking a try. Didn’t we, Rose?”

Rose doesn’t answer, watching as Andrea cracks an egg.

I move closer. “Where’s Hariett?”

“Cleaning upstairs.”

“Okay.” I lean on the counter. “What are you baking?”

“Cookies,” she says as she gets another egg. “I figured we should start with something small, simple and…Shit!”

She frowns as the shell of the egg she’s cracking disintegrates, bits of it floating on the surface of her dough mixture.

I peek into the bowl. “Well, I must say I’ve never thought of cookies that way.”

“Shut up,” she scolds then glances over to Rose. “Sorry about that. And don’t worry, everything is going to be fine.”

I look at her recipe, which she seems to have printed out from the internet. “Have you ever tried baking before?”

“No,” she admits as she picks up the last bit of eggshell. “I wasn’t exactly one of those girls who liked to hang out in the kitchen.”

“I see.”

“But there’s a first time for everything. Besides, anyone can bake. Isn’t that right, Rose?”

She just stares at me and then back at Andrea.

I pick up a spoon. “In that case, can I help?”

“Hmm.” Andrea places her hands on her hips. “Tempting. More hands do make light work.”

“But?” I ask, sensing one coming.

“I don’t know.” Andrea turns to Rose. “What do you think, Rose? Should we let Clay help?”

The girl shrugs. Well, at least, she communicates non-verbally.

Andrea turns back to me. “Oh, alright. But only if you apologize first for being such a jerk.”

“That was my intention all along,” I tell her. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, if I said anything hurtful,” she says. “I didn’t mean it.”

“No worries.” I offer her my hand. “So, friends?”

For a moment, Andrea just stares at my hand, and then to my relief, she shakes it. “Friends.”

This was how we started last time. Who knows? Maybe we can start all over and have a better ending this time. Better yet, maybe this time, there won’t be an ending but of course, I’m thinking too far ahead.

Slow down, Clay. Baby steps. This time, you have to do everything right.

“Alright, then. So, first, we combine all these ingredients.” Andrea grabs a spatula, handing it to Rose. “I’ve made two batches so Rose can mix one and then we can mix the other.”

She pushes one of the bowls in front of Rose. For a moment, Rose just stares at it. Then she reluctantly dips her spatula in it and starts stirring.

“That’s progress,” Andrea whispers excitedly.

I have to say that is the most Andrea has been able to make Rose do since they both moved in here.

“I’m impressed,” I tell her.

She smiles. “Now, like I said, we’ll mix the other bowl of mixture but I think we should use a hand mixer instead of a spatula.”

“Cheater,” I tease.

“What?” She gives me an innocent look. “There’s more than one way to get things done.”

She grabs the mixer and holds it over the bowl. “Now, plug it in, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I plug in the mixer and she starts mixing, sending bits of the mixture flying out of the bowl and on my shirt in the first few seconds.

“Oops.” She places a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I must have been holding the mixer wrong.”

“Really?” I wipe my shirt. “And here I thought you were doing it on purpose to get back at me.”

“I was not,” Andrea protests. “Besides, we already put that behind us.”

I cock my head to one side. “If you say so.”

She snorts then continues mixing, this time more carefully. After a few minutes, she stops, taking the mixer out and setting it aside.

“Well?” She pushes the bowl closer to me. “What do you think? Doesn’t that look nice?”

I get a spoon and stir the mixture then glance at the recipe.

“What?” Andrea asks, hands on her hips again.

“Did you follow this recipe?”

“Of course. Why?”

I lift the spoon out of the mixture. “I just think this mixture probably needs more flour.”

“Oh, so you’re a baking expert now, are you? Have you baked before?”

“No,” I tell her. “But once, we made a software for a company’s line of baking tools. We tested it several times using various recipes.”

Andrea’s eyebrows crease. “So, you are a baking expert?”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t believe everything you get from the internet.” I set down the spoon.

She taps her fingers on the table. “So, the internet’s wrong and you’re right?”

I shrug. “It’s happened before.”

“Really?”

I pick up the recipe. “What website did you get this from again?”

She takes it back. “I don’t remember.”

“Which probably means it’s not that credible to begin with.”

Andrea frowns. “So, you want to add some flour?”

I nod. “I just think we should put a little more.”

“I see.” She grabs the bag of flour. “Fine. Why don’t you put it in since you’re the one who suggested it?”

“Sure. I…”

I stop as Andrea throws the bag at me. I manage to catch it but since it’s open, the flour goes on my shirt, some on my face.

I wipe some of it off with the back of my hand. “Now, that was intentional, wasn’t it?”

“Was it?” She bites her lower lip.

So she wants to have some fun, does she? Fine. Baking is supposed to be fun, after all.

“You know what? I think you’ve got something on your face.” I dip my hand inside the bag of flour. “Why don’t I get that for you?”

“No!” Andrea shouts as she runs away from me. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

“Oh, come on.” I rub my hands together, turning them white. “It’s just a bit of flour.”

She shrieks as she starts running and I chase after her. I go easy on her for a while, letting her run around the counter and the table and chairs. Then I go for the kill, grabbing her from behind and rubbing flour into her cheeks as she lets out a cry.

“Now, that’s better,” I say when I’m done, admiring my handiwork.

“Is it?” She grabs the bag of cocoa powder.

“No.” I lift a finger. “Not the cocoa powder.”

“Why not?” She grins mischievously.

This time, I’m the one running while Andrea chases after me and when she catches me, she places the cocoa on my face, laughing. As she does, I try to get some on her and after a few seconds, our faces are both covered in white and brown powder.

I look at myself. “Well, I guess that’s why they say too many cooks spoil the dish.”

“What dish?” Andrea asks, still laughing.

I should be angry at her for getting my shirt dirty and for making it necessary for me to take another shower when I just took one but instead, I find myself laughing as well, both at her appearance and mine.

I didn’t know baking could be so much fun.

Suddenly, we stop, hearing another sound in the kitchen. At first, it seems like a sputter then it turns into full-blown, high-pitched laughter.

Andrea and I turn our heads at the same time, looking at Rose who’s laughing for the first time since John died.

Laughing just like every child should.

Well, what do you know?

Smiling, I place an arm around Andrea, who’s speechless at the moment, her hands clasped over her mouth and her eyes brimming with tears of joy.

“I told you we needed a bit more flour.”